


Come and Sleep

by Aondeug



Category: Japanese Mythology, Nihon Ryouiki, On Taking a Fox as a Wife and Conceiving a Child, Original Work
Genre: F/F, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 04:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20168515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aondeug/pseuds/Aondeug
Summary: Years and years ago a man went into the fields to find a wife. He did. He also found a fox. Years and years after that first union of fox and man an office lady goes out in search of help. She finds it in the form of a strange woman who claims to be from America. A woman that happens to be a fox.





	1. Desperate Prayers

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a final project for a Japanese literature course. The work is an adaptation of On Taking a Fox as a Wife and Conceiving a Child from the Nihon Ryouiki. This poetry collection would not exist without that professor and her class. For that and more the dedication of this collection goes to her.

Yellow street lamps lined up  
On the side of the road  
Are her only guide home  
After the night’s drinking,  
After the night’s working.  
How many days has it been  
Since she last left on time  
And not a second over it?  
When was the last time  
That she greeted the sun  
With at least an air of brightness?  
With brevity and lightness?  
  
She had lost count of the days,  
Same as she had the hours  
Which would never be paid  
And would never pay in the end  
In the form of a raise or promotion.  
Because of course they wouldn’t.  
  
It was her fault,  
For the long hours,  
For the lack of sleep,  
For the being late  
So she thinks as she stalks  
Right down the streets on home  
Lined with yellow street lamps.  
That’s what she thinks as she falls  
Flat right onto her face  
Having stumbled over her heels.  
She’d never get a raise or praise,  
Not a single fucking thing  
Beyond basic formalities  
And comments of how she was late  
And how she’s needed late,  
And whose fault was it really  
But her own?  
  
She pushes herself up  
Onto her knees  
Tears welling up  
As she tries to count the hours  
And tries to count the drinks.  
One, then two, then three, then four.  
How much of her pay was that?  
How would she be without it though?  
How could bear it without it though?  
She can’t find the answer,  
But she finds a swear  
Right in her throat  
For herself and her boss  
And for the overtime and the commute  
And for her coworkers and the job  
But most of all herself,  
Because whose fault was it but hers  
That she drank so much tonight?  
  
There’s another swear she finds  
As she finds her box of food,  
Some inari-zushi she bought  
To be the next morning’s takeout  
Because who can cook breakfast  
On this kind of schedule?  
The box is scuffed   
And she opens it with a groan  
While wiping the snot from her nose  
With the back of her hand  
But inside the box  
It’s fine, just fine  
And she cries all the more at it.  
At the sight of it, perfect rolls lined up  
Falling into place just right  
And the thought of the morning  
Before she has to fall just right  
Into place with only time for this  
Instead of having something warm  
And something hot that hasn’t been sitting  
For hours on end in her fridge  
Because who has the time to do anything  
But buy sushi that she doesn’t even like?  
  
So she pushes herself on up  
Onto her feet and holds the box on  
Out right in front of her as memories rush  
Right back to her mind of talks that  
Her grandma gave to her of tales of  
Foxes and roadside offerings made back.  
So she calls out in one voice  
Loud as can be the old call  
That her grandmother had taught  
For roadside offerings, roadside offerings  
Because what else is she to do  
When she’s drunk this much  
After working that much  
And has a box of sushi  
That she doesn’t even like   
Which she bought on a drunken whim.  
Someone leans out a window  
And tells her to shut up.  
She tries to swear back,  
A challenge welling up in her throat,  
But the words don’t come out  
And the words can’t come out  
Because her mouth’s stopped  
And her tongue stumbles over sounds  
That aren’t the old call her grandmother taught.  
  
The box slips from her hands  
And she drops to her knees,  
Apologizing all the way  
To tidy up the box   
Which she never really wanted  
And she’s not sure what else to do  
Besides fall into Grandma’s old habits  
When she’s drunk just this much.  
So she dips her head and claps and bows  
Because what else is she to do  
When she’s lost track of the days  
And the hours and the drinks  
And only has yellow street lamps  
To guide her on back home?


	2. A Good Meal

The morning  
Seeps through the window.  
Calm, gentle sunlight  
To the tune of screams  
From the clock.  
  
The morning  
Comes with a pounding  
Deep, thick  
Encompassing the world  
In the head.  
  
The morning  
Brings a gift though  
Wrapped nice and neat.  
A box of sushi  
Just how she likes.  
  
Her head aches,  
Dull thrum.  
Work awaits,  
Droll thrum.  
But she can eat.  
  
Her train comes  
On time  
As she thinks  
On time  
That it wasn’t shrimp.  
  
There’s no drinking,  
Not this night.  
There’s no overtime,  
Not this night.  
But there is tofu  
That she leaves out  
With a softer call  
So to not disturb,  
Not quite believing  
Or quite disbelieving.


	3. Once in a Lifetime

It’s just another night really  
With her offerings in hand ready  
To be set aside on the street  
Tucked in nice and neat in an alley.  
She’s not seen a mystery box of food since,  
But she’s cleaned the mirror since  
And she’s found more of a verve for cooking  
So she’s made these late night runs a habit.  
  
She thinks that it’s just another night  
Until her eye catches a flash of blue,  
Light and airy, barely perceptible,  
So much so that when she turns to look  
There’s no light that’s blue at all,  
Only twin pinpricks of yellow.  
  
Oh, it’s just a cat she thinks  
But only after she’d jumped  
A good foot up into the air  
And dropped the box of sushi.  
  
Oh, it’s just a cat she thinks  
Even as she catches the red  
That a cat never quite has  
And sees a touch of whitish blue  
Hovering above the yellow eyes.  
  
A fox.  
  
She’s sure of it.  
  
It’s just another night, sure,  
But there’s a fox right there  
Standing in front of her   
A little black paw raised  
As if to take a step forward  
And she’s not quite sure what to do  
As she steps forward herself  
Hand outstretched and wonder in her throat.  
  
“It’s a fox!”  
  
And just like that it’s gone,  
Scampering off into the dark  
Faster than she can think,  
Though not faster than the sadness  
Which settles in quick.  
She’d gone and scared the thing.  
A once in a lifetime moment   
And she blunders there too,  
So she smiles and laughs at herself  
Before bending down to set it right,  
The offerings in the alley way.  
  
“Oh, I guess it’s not a cat.”  
  
The words stiffen her back  
And send a thrill of shame through her;  
She must look so weird at the time  
All crouched over in an alleyway  
Like a good, proper nuisance to the world.  
  
So she turns around and apologizes,  
Quick and on impulse alone  
And she sees her;  
A woman.  
Beautiful,  
Neatly dressed,  
Hair perfect.  
  
Thought stopping  
Would be a way of describing her  
And beyond her apology  
She finds her words stuck  
Until the woman asks what she’s doing  
All bent over in the alleyway.  
  
“Roadside offerings, you know…”  
Isn’t the answer she meant to give.  
She’d rather have hidden that,  
But those are the words that tumble out,  
Stupidly, she thinks.  
But the woman just sort of laughs  
And, quite kindly, says  
“I haven’t seen anyone doing that in years!  
You know you’re in the city right?”  
Which seems an admonition at first  
Until she adds, “It’s a sweet thought though.”  
  
Is it? Is the question in her mind  
But she instead says “I suppose that’s true,”  
Before standing herself up  
And patting herself off   
And trying her damnedest to not stare  
At this woman from nowhere.  
It’s hard not to though  
And so she nervously squeaks out that,  
“I’ve got to get home, sorry,  
I have a long morning commute!”  
  
“Is that so?” she hears back from the woman  
While she bows a bit deeper than normal,  
Simply figuring that that’s right.  
  
“Just so! Sorry, but I’ve really got to go,”  
And with that and a “see you later”  
But not a “goodbye” she heads off  
Back to her home, thrown off a bit  
But thinking that it’s just another night.


	4. Chance Meetings

The second time she met her  
Was at a bar after work.  
The day had been stressful  
And there was no need to socialize  
But she wanted to get away   
and to avoid home  
Just for a time  
And there she was again  
The woman from the alleyway,  
Beautiful, tall, her Japanese just a bit off,  
Too measured at times, too brusque at others.  
  
She didn’t recognize her  
And mistook her for a highschool friend.  
  
The third time she met her  
Was at a bookstore on the weekend  
Right near her apartment, far from work,  
And it surprised her really, seeing her there,  
Because she assumed she lived there, not here,  
Because here’s just so very far away  
From those dingy street lights.  
  
She didn’t forget her this time,  
But the other brought up “their” school.  
  
The fourth time she met her  
Was somewhere else entirely, nearer her mother’s,  
At a museum she’d gone to  
As a birthday present from the family  
Because they knew she loved history  
More than anything else at all  
And who should be there but her,  
Who explained she was a foreigner  
And that’s why her talk was off.  
  
She noticed her first this time  
And the woman gave her a number.  
  
And the fifth time they met  
Was at a cafe, also on a weekend,  
And for once it was planned out  
Instead of a chance meeting  
Of one spotting the other and saying “Hey!”  
Before a conversation broke out  
About work and life and food and more.  
  
And this day?  
She’d never forget it.


	5. A Fox's Wedding

One meeting  
Many days down the line  
It was raining  
On a bright sunny day.  
At first, it was a drizzle  
That they had ignored.  
Then it was a downpour  
Which they went right through.  
Next came the rumble  
Of thunder overhead  
With a crack  
That made her start  
And the other laugh.  
Which prompted a shove  
And a “Horrible!”  
Before she laughed  
Just as hard.  
  
Under an awning  
At a storefront  
A thought came to her  
But the words  
Balled up  
In her throat  
And her face  
Turned a red.  
When the other saw  
She asked  
“What’s wrong?”  
And the words  
Came out  
A torrent,  
A storm,  
One falling  
After the other,  
“Well, you know  
You live a bit far,  
Don’t you?  
I mean  
You take the train  
And the station  
Is a bit far  
And, well,  
Your home might be too,  
So I just thought,  
I was thinking,  
That since I live close  
You could wait it out  
At my place,  
You know,  
If you’d like.”  
  
And the other  
She stopped and stared  
For a moment  
As another rumble  
Shook the skies  
Before  
She smiled bright, clear  
As the sky above them  
And said,  
“Of course.”


	6. Domestic Bliss

The days passed easier  
With her at home, waiting.  
Breakfasts in the morning,  
Lunches made up too,  
And dinners in the evening.  
The home was cleaner  
And prettier done up  
Than it had been before.  
She never answered the phone,  
Save once  
And when she had  
She couldn’t remember “Moshi moshi”  
And she never talked of work  
Though she had it,  
So she said again and again  
And nothing more when asked,  
But the days passed easier.


	7. Fox and Hound

And then came the puppy.  
  
You were watching him  
For your uncle, a little dog called Ken.  
Your uncle was sick in the hospital,  
Ill out of the blue after his wife  
Who’d passed a week ago now.  
So it was up to you  
To watch over little Ken-chan  
When no one else would.  
  
But her? She disliked it.  
  
Or maybe she was just scared.  
You thought as much  
From what you saw.  
Her eyes would search  
Fearfully flitting for Ken  
And her back would stiffen  
At the sight of him  
Before she jumped up  
At his barking,  
Which he always did now  
When he’d been such a quiet pup.  
  
She asked you once if not,  
Maybe, perhaps, just maybe  
There might be someone else  
Who could watch over Ken.  
But your brother hated Ken-chan  
And your parents were too old now,  
So it had to fall to you  
And it’d only be a few days at most.  
You were sure of that.  
  
But then the days stretched to weeks  
And then the weeks into months  
And then your uncle? He died,  
Screaming about a woman in white  
And leaving you with a puppy  
That your lover hated  
More than anything in the world.  
Your mood soured  
And how could it not?  
Your uncle was dead and you had a dog  
And your job was still shit  
And you had her glaring at the dog  
Each and every night  
As he barked up a storm.  
  
So you got fed up one day and spoke up.  
  
Because what does she expect you to do?  
Get rid of your uncle’s dog  
When it’s the only thing you've got left  
Of him and his wife,  
When no one else will take him in?  
Oh, but she’s the one who watches Ken,  
The one who’s barked at all day,  
And she still feeds him and she walks him  
Even though she’s terrified of him  
Because he tried to bite her once or twice.  
  
So it’s your fault then?  
Is that it?  
  
Ken-chan was barking all the time  
As he often did these days  
And when she finally got up  
He lunged forth, fangs all bared, and bit.  
  
You stopped.  
It all did.  
  
Ken went quiet and you were silent and she?  
She was there one moment, yelling in pain  
And in the next moment you saw a fox  
Jumping five feet into the air at the very least  
As Ken-chan began to chase and chomp.  
The fox scrabbled in a panic through the home,  
Scratching the top of your table  
And knocking over your books  
And the cups off the table too  
And in a shock you walked to the window  
To open it for the fox  
No matter what floor you lived on  
And out the window it jumped  
Even though you live on the fourth floor.  
You gasped  
And reached outside the window  
But you saw nothing.  
No fox, in the air or the ground,  
Not a fox at all.


	8. Come and Sleep

A full week passes you by  
Without a word from her.  
You sent her texts and emails  
And you even tried calling her  
Even though you know she can’t answer right,  
And then two weeks pass you by  
Without even a word from her.  
  
The regret settles in slow and thick,  
But Ken-chan’s quieted down  
And you keep the mirror clean, best you can.  
You wipe it down and rinse it and wipe it again,  
Each and every week,  
And you leave out rice and salt and water  
Each and every day,  
Even though you’ve not heard from her.  
On the weekends even, you visit the shrine  
And leave a few coins in the box  
Before asking her to come back home.  
  
Three weeks pass you by  
And you’ve found a place for Ken-chan  
In the day while you work.  
It was a chance meeting  
And you had to insist to pay them,  
The little old lady who offered,  
Even if just a tad for the debt you owe her.  
You found a dog sitter though  
And you can’t help but feel it’s providence,  
A tiny blessing   
For keeping the mirror clean  
and the rice out.  
  
And as four weeks set to pass by  
You hear a knock at your door  
In the dead of the night.  
And as you open that door  
You see her standing there  
Looking the same as before.  
It stops the words in your throat  
For a moment too long,  
So you apologize and bow and apologize again  
Before asking her if she’d like to come in.  
  
She accepts.  
  
She steps over your threshold once more  
For the first time in four weeks  
And you think to yourself  
How empty the home’s been at night,  
And you think to yourself  
How Ken-chan’s been too quiet tonight.  
You stop in your path  
To get some tea being made  
Fearing for another fight  
Between the fox and dog  
That’ll send her off and out again,  
This time for good,  
But almost as if reading your mind  
She says that it’s fine, the dog.  
Which gives you pause and you stare  
As she adds that they’ve talked  
Which you don’t quite get  
But then you married a fox  
On a bright sunny day as it rained.  
  
You set to making the tea  
And she talks all the time  
About the conversation with Ken.  
He just can’t abide by a fox  
Being in his home or in yours,  
And your heart drops at those  
Silly sounding, ridiculous words  
And you turn around to look  
Right at her standing  
As you ask her to come back  
Just as you had at the shrine  
And at the mirror,  
Day in and day out,  
Though you know he won’t stand a fox  
Because all the tales say so  
And though you know you can’t leave him  
Because he’s your uncle’s little Ken-chan.  
  
They’ve talked about that too,  
She says so,  
Calm and measured  
Before she adds  
That there’s no way around it,  
Not while Ken-chan is awake.  
  
“Then what about at night?”  
  
You say it sudden  
Not giving her a chance to finish  
And she looks at you  
Surprised  
And silent for a time  
Before smiling wide and warm.  
  
“Why do you think we’re called kitsune?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kitsune/Come and sleep - The original tale not only served as the origin for a famous family in Japan but also as a folk etymology for the word kitsune. When the fox woman runs off her husband asks her to come (kitsu) and sleep (ne) with him each night. Hence why foxes are called kitsune. Being an adaptation of the original tale it seemed a fitting way to open and end the collection.
> 
> Inari-zushi - Vinegared rice wrapped in a thin bag of fried tofu, so named for the supposed fondness that kitsune have for the sushi. Kitsune are the messengers of Inari Okami, hence the name inari-zushi though Inari Okami themselves is not a fox.
> 
> Roadside offerings - A folk tradition practiced by some practitioners of Inari Faith. The typical offering was inari-zushi that was left on the sides of roads after making a loud call to the foxes. The offering was not for Inari Okami themselves, but for their messengers the foxes. The practice has gotten rarer over the years.


End file.
